


This Empty Earth

by Catsmeow



Series: Small Boy, Big City [5]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, Gen, Young Daniel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsmeow/pseuds/Catsmeow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the journey you most need to take is the one you're most reluctant to go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Empty Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Fifth in the series. This story is about Daniel during his youth with his foster parents. Originally written July 2007.

Daniel's shiny new shoes were clumsy on his feet, as restrictive as the unfamiliar jacket and tie. He wasn't sure if the feeling of not being able to breathe came from the confining clothing or from what he was about to do. He selected a few last items and placed them on the bed with the rest while Humphrey watched from his perch on the desk. Daniel eyed the stuffed toy speculatively. If everyone else had to dress up, maybe the camel should, too. Pulling his mother's delicate handkerchief from his pocket, he folded it in half to a triangle shape and tied it around Humphrey's neck.

"There. Now you look handsome." He whispered the same words to the toy that he had heard earlier that morning. Hugging the toy to his chest, he buried his face in its fur, willing the knot in his stomach to subside. He felt a little queasy too, but wasn't sure if that was because he hadn't been able to eat breakfast.

A tap on the on the open door to his room caught his attention. His foster mother came into the room, holding a black object in one hand. "Here's the bag you asked for," she said quietly. Sally laid the empty tote bag on his bed. The dark colors of her dress matched the somber mood in the house. Gesturing to the small pile of things he had gathered, she said, "I, um, I can get a bigger bag if you'd like to bring more."

He shook his head. "That's okay." He felt an urge to cover everything up so she couldn't see what he had. She wasn't the one he wanted to share this with, but he didn't want to be rude either. "I just needed something big enough for Sir Alan's book on Egyptian grammar. Most of the other stuff won't take much room." After a noticeable pause, he reluctantly added. "It's just some drawings I did, and my report cards, and some reports I got bonus points on and stuff."

"Oh, I see." Her hands fluttered toward the pile, then settled to wrap around her waist. Eyes darting around the room, she looked everywhere but at him.

He tugged at the hem of his jacket, one foot digging into the carpet. "Can…can I bring the card I made you?"

Immediately, she focused on his face, looking surprised, but pleased. She stepped out then returned with the hand made Mother's Day card just as he began packing the things into the tote. Giving it to him, she pointed toward the door.

"Come out when you're ready and we'll get going."

Ignoring her, he packed the tote bag, making sure everything was in there just right. The carpet muffled her footsteps as she left. He repositioned one of the drawings, straightening out a crumpled corner. He wanted them to be pleased when he showed them what he'd accomplished over the last year and half. They wouldn't be impressed by sloppy, wrinkled work and he wanted them to be impressed. He wanted them to be proud of him. He wanted to show he was worthy of them. That was why he was making the extra effort to bring all this on the visit. Satisfied, he zipped it closed then pulled the fully loaded tote bag off of the bed. It dragged a little on the ground, but not too badly. More importantly, the contents stayed in place.

Time to go.

As he reached the doorway he heard his foster parents speaking. They must be standing in the dining room at the end of hallway. Sometimes he could hear them in there even when they spoke in low tones as they did now. He stood very still, listening.

"Have you got the directions?" asked Sally.

The higher pitch of his foster mother's voice was often harder to hear than Cliff's low tenor. She must be facing down the hallway because her voice came through clearly.

"Yes."

"What about the– "

"We'll stop on the way."

"I don't know if we should do this." She sounded upset and it made the lump in his stomach start to come back.

"Dr. Showalter said – "

"I know what she said. It's just…" her voice broke, "I hurt so much for him."

"Me too, hon. We can't do this for him, but we can be there for him."

He stepped into the hallway, knowing it would end their conversation. Humphrey was clenched tightly under his arm while the heavy bag dangled in his grip, skimming the carpet as he walked. Ahead, in the dining room, he could see Cliff and Sally embracing. When they saw him, they broke apart. Cliff hunkered down in front of him. Daniel stared at the floor, at his hard shiny shoes, at Cliff's scuffed dress shoes, at anything that wouldn't stare back at him.

"Hey, sport." Cliff's voice was soft. "You know, you can change your mind at any time. Even if we get all the way there, you just say the word and we come home. No harm, no foul, okay?"

Not trusting his voice, Daniel nodded.

Cliff gathered him in, hugging him firmly. Daniel pressed his face in the warm chest. Letting go of the tote bag, he hugged him back with one hand but only for a few seconds.

~~

He wasn't sure how long they'd been driving. It seemed like forever and it seemed like no time at all. He concentrated on the back of the seat in front of him. It was smooth and grey, with darker grey stitching. Sometimes he counted the stitches- 147 across the top, 238 down the left side, 152 across the bottom, 235 up the right side. Sometimes he tried to make his mind as smooth and grey as the seat. Bits of scenery from the window flashed through his peripheral vision, but he never turned his head. Looking meant thinking – about the journey, about the destination, about purpose and reason -and even though he had specifically packed for a private version of show and tell, he didn't want to think about any of it.

The car slowed, turned, slowed some more. Daniel swayed as Cliff maneuvered the vehicle around unseen obstacles before coming to a halt. A flickering glance out of the window showed they were at the shop.

Cliff twisted to look into the back seat. "You still okay, buddy?" His foster father's concern was evident.

Daniel nodded.

"You want to come in or would you like us to take care of it?"

He hesitated, then unbuckled his seatbelt by way of answer. The store was cool and damp. Bright colors filled his vision. Like the clothes they were wearing, this was a required element, but he wasn't sure if there were rules beyond that. Could they get anything from here? Or would only certain ones do? He had often heard his parents discuss the importance of ritual in reinforcing societal norms and establishing a sense of community. Today, more than ever, it was essential to do this right.

"Does it…" he hesitated, not sure how to ask. "Does it matter…"

Sally knelt next to him. "You can pick anything, sweetheart. Anything at all." Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder. "Was there a favorite?" Her voice wavered. "Or maybe a favorite color?"

Daniel could tell she felt as uncertain as he did. Somehow that made him feel better – knowing he wasn't the only one feeling lost. A favorite? He didn't know. There wasn't time to know. He held up Humphrey, his fingers gently stroking the floral handkerchief tied around the camel's neck.

"Like these," he decided. "I want some like these."

Within minutes they were back in the car, a vase full of pink and red flowers held carefully in Sally's hands.

~~~~

The wrought iron gates were spread open, flanking the drive. Pulling up in front of the little brick gatehouse, Cliff put the car in park then went in while Sally and Daniel waited in the car. Long minutes passed with only the drone of the idling motor to break the silence. Cliff returned holding a piece of paper and they set off again. Consulting the paper, Cliff drove slowly past big shady trees, banks of flowers, and neatly trimmed hedges. Cliff brought the car to a halt again, this time shutting the engine off after putting it in park.

"They should be right over there," he murmured, pointing as he got out of the car. Coming around to the passenger side, he opened Daniel's door, but Daniel drew back from the proffered hand, preferring to get out on his own so Cliff helped his wife with the vase of flowers. Once she was set, he turned his attention back to Daniel, who was dragging the tote bag across the seat and out of the car.

"I can take that for you."

Daniel shook his head as Cliff shut the car door behind him.

"Remember, sport – say the word anytime, and we turn around, okay?"

Nodding, he adjusted his grip on the tote. His foster parents flanked him as they walked in the direction Cliff had pointed. Daniel looked all the way down at the way the grass flattened under his feet, or he looked all the way up at the way the trees shook in the breeze. He tried not to look anywhere in between, but his eyes betrayed him with furtive glances.

"Over there," murmured Sally.

They followed her to a matching pair of gray granite monuments, waiting as she put the flowers on the ground between the stones then came back to kneel in front of Daniel.

"We can do this with you," she offered, "or we can wait over there."

She gestured behind him and Daniel twisted his head to see a white stone bench not far off.

"Wait," he replied.

She gave him a hug, and kissed his cheek. Cliff ruffled his hair and squeezed his shoulder, then helped Sally up. Daniel watched as they got seated before giving his attention to what was in front of him.

The headstones were simple. No fancy silhouettes or images like some of the markers they had passed. Just names, dates. Beloved Husband and Father. Beloved Wife and Mother. The last line on his father's marker ended with three dots and the last line of his mother's marker started with three dots. He thought that meant they shared one saying between them. It was fitting that they be joined by words forever because they loved to talk to each other. "May Flights Of Angels…Sing Thee To Thy Rest" He liked the sound of it, even though he didn't know exactly what it meant. It sounded like a quote. He'd have to ask Miss Hudson at the bookstore. She would know where it came from.

His shoes made no sound in the thick grass as he shuffled closer. Polished to a high gloss, the granite was cool and slick to the touch. The chill infused his skin, creeping up his arm to connect with the coldness at his core. One fingertip traced the engraved lines of the name. Melburn Daniel Jackson. His dad's middle name was Daniel. He was named after his father and he didn't even know it. If he hadn't come here like Dr. Showalter said he should, would he ever have known it? What else was lost to him? What else would he be forever ignorant of because there wasn't time for him to learn?

Suddenly, the things in the tote bag seemed stupid. Who did he think he was he going to show his precious things to? His parents were dead. They were gone. They weren't even mummified, so there would be nothing at all left of them. They were gone, body and soul. If there was an afterlife, that's where they would be, not here in this empty earth, heavy stones pressing down on them now just as heavy stones had killed them.

He hadn't been to the funeral. Well meaning adults wishing to spare him further trauma had kept him sequestered. In their monthly sessions, Dr. Showalter used words like denial, acceptance, and closure. She used big words, but explained them in small ways, ways he could easily understand even if he didn't want to. He didn't want to hear her, didn't want to listen, but the words trickled into his ears and comprehension came despite himself. He had learned what to say to stave off her words, but they still came at him. She said he needed closure, and this was how he had to get it. She hadn't told him how much closure would hurt.

He found himself stumbling back across the grass to the bench where his foster parents waited. In the few seconds it took to get there, he was breathing hard, as though he'd been running laps around the gym at school. Halting abruptly in front of them, he blurted out, "My mama and daddy are dead!"

Sally pulled him onto her lap and he let her cuddle him. She was soft and warm. Her arms wrapped around him making him feel safe. He could feel each breath she took, her heart thumping faintly under his ear. Rocking him gently, she murmured soothing words that were all sound and no meaning. He had no idea what she said, but the hum of her voice echoed under him, lulling him. Cliff's big fingers slid through his hair and down his back, over and over - stroking him, calming him.

Clutching Humphrey under his chin, he turned his face into Sally's shoulder, desperate for the solace she offered. His grief bubbled up from somewhere deep within him, like a black cloud swirling though him, filling him until he wasn't big enough to contain it all. It spilled out of him and he cried. Quietly, copiously, he cried as he hadn't been able to since the day he saw his mom and dad crushed under the ponderous stone.

He distantly noted wet sounds and ragged breathing around him, but it wasn't until his own tears finally subsided that he realized his foster parents were crying too. He felt a delicate touch on his face as Sally dabbed away the tears with a tissue. Cliff's comforting hand slowed to a stop, clasping the nape of his neck. He felt Sally draw in a breath. The sound of the air rushing inward seemed loud with his ear still pressed to her chest.

Speaking softly, she asked "Do you mind if we go meet them?"

Too wrung out to move, he mumbled into Humphrey's fur. "I think they would have liked you."

Cliff slipped his hands under Daniel's arms, lifting him from Sally's lap. Instead of putting him down, Cliff held him. One strong arm cradled his bottom, supporting his weight. The other arm wrapped part way around him in a half hug. Long fingers splayed out across his back, keeping him securely in place. Too tired to grip with his knees, Daniel let his legs dangle, relaxing against the man.

They walked the short distance to the Jackson's resting place, standing in respectful silence for several minutes. He could hear Sally murmuring something. From the cadence he thought it might be a prayer like the ones he heard the few times they went to church. Sally moved up between the stones. Raising her hand to her mouth, she kissed the tips of two fingers then touched them to his mother's headstone.

"Rest well," she whispered, "your son is safe and loved."

Wiping her eyes with a tissue, she returned to her husband, picking up the tote bag on the way. Shifting Daniel's weight onto his hip, Cliff held his hand out to her. Linked together, the small family walked in silence back to the car. Daniel bobbed a little with each step his foster father took. The fabric of the sport coat under his cheek was rough, rubbing his skin, but he didn't care.

The rocking motion was soporific. Exhausted, Daniel could feel his eyes drooping closed. This wasn't like being tired from shoveling snow were everything ached or being tired from bronchitis when everything felt too heavy to move. Drained as he was, Daniel felt curiously buoyant. It was as though he was lighter in his bones and might float away if Cliff let go of him. Safe in the shelter of strong arms, Daniel drowsily watched the puffy white clouds drifting across the blue sky. The warm breeze ruffled his hair while the birds sang sweetly in the trees.

It was a beautiful day.

 

Finis


End file.
